The One With The Phone Call
by Sweetheart Seer
Summary: James Potter doesn't know Lily Evans well, and from all that he does know, she hates him. But somehow he's the first number she calls when she needs help in the middle of the night. Of course he answers the call. (A part of the St. Albus's verse)


He gets the call at exactly 2:36 in the morning. And he's pissed and tired and barely awake, but her voice on the other line chills him to the bone and he's thrown his phone off the bed before she can hang up or apologize to him, explain that his number was the first number that popped up in her contacts because, " _I'm on my way_."

He doesn't have fucking a shirt on under his jacket and his pyjama bottoms are the loose ones with the hole in the hem that hang low against his hips and make Sirius laugh because of the outlandish pattern, but he doesn't have time to care. James swings into his car and as quietly as he can- it isn't like he bothered to tell his parents what he was doing at nearly three in the fucking morning- backs out of the driveway and he's off.

He pushes seventy the entire way there. In the back of his mind, he's thanking whatever deity is listening for all those times Sirius dragged him to go egg Dearborn's house. His heart is pounding too hard against his chest, beating marks into the underside of his skin and he call feel the resonating beats throughout the rest of his body. He's too hot and too cold and his throat is too dry and he forgot to put on his goddamn glasses which is why the street signs are nothing more than some surrealist or abstract or impressionist shite- he doesn't know art. The signs are just blobs of color against the night.

He pulls up to the house, unable to even pull over because of all the cars lining the curb. The lights all on, bodies pressing and curling and writhing everywhere, shitty pop blaring out through the windows, the bassline so strong he can feel it from the street. James throws the car into park and is out the door, her name already ghosting his lips.

But she's on the sidewalk already, her house keys held shakily between her knuckles like knives, her hair mussed, her makeup running in grey tracks down her freckled cheeks. James feels his throat close up at the sight of her like that.

Lily Evans has always seemed the size of a planet, too big for the world around her, the energy inside her threatening to break free from inside her. She has a gravitational pull and everyone fell into orbit. At least, James has always thought so. But she looks so broken down and it's almost hard to breathe because she may hate him, and he knows that maybe she should hate him because he's not always a good person and she's everything a good person is meant to be-

But then she's clinging to him, a buoy in the ocean she's been lost in, her face pressing into his shoulder, small hands curled into the material of his jacket. His mind stalls before he reacts, wrapping an arm around her. She's shivering and he's trying to keep himself together. He feels like a patchwork, barely held together by strings of sinew, threatening to tear apart from the rage rolling in his body, and she is holding him together as he holds her up. His fists are white knuckled but pressing against her back, the knobs of her spine, and for the first time in his life, James knows what it is like to be ready to _kill_.

He helps her into the passenger seat and takes off his jacket, pressing it into her hands. By the time he slides into the driver's seat, she's drowning in the red and gold material, clutching it against her chest over her thin shirt. He is pretending he didn't notice the torn strap. She smells of stale sweat and and the saccharine reek of pot and cheap liquor and a soft perfume he's never noticed her wear before- not that he's ever made a habit of smelling Lily Evans (despite what his traitorous best mate may have to say, he's not that pathetic).

James doesn't know where she lives and she seems too shaken to give directions, so he takes her home and all but carries her inside. Everything's just slightly blurred and off and he feels like a git for not taking a minute to grab his glasses before he left, but James manages to help her upstairs.

Out of all the situations, he can't say that this is how he imagined Evans stepping into his bedroom for the first time but those are very much not the type of thoughts he should be having at the moment. James motions for her to sit on the edge of his bed and pretends not to notice she's still shaking. He pushes his hand through his hair before he snaps his fingers and moves to rifle through his drawers. It takes a moment, but he finds a pair of old pyjama bottoms and his Glendor Lions shirt.

"There's a bathroom across the hall, if you need it. Sleep here, alright, Evans?" She gives a nod and is looking at him differently than usual or maybe it's just because he can't see. James grabs his glasses and pushes them onto his face as she stands up and shuffles across the hall to the bathroom, his clothing held tightly in her hands.

James picks up her phone once she's gone and tries not to feel guilty about clicking it open and scrolling through her contacts. He can't find either of her parents but he finds someone listed as "Tuney" and remembers she has a sister named Petunia and so he shoots off a text explaining as best as he can manage. He doesn't expect her to reply, so when Lily's phone vibrates not more than a minute later, he's surprised to see two simple words. " _Thank you."_

He sets her phone down and hastily tries to clean up some of his "boy mess," as his mum calls it, before Lily comes back in. If Remus left any of his stash in anywhere remotely visible, he's going to kill him.

She knocks softly before pushing back into his room a few minutes later, her clothes in a neatly folded pile in her hands. She looks small and frail, one of those china dolls his grandmum used to collect, nearly afloat in his old clothes, her face scrubbed raw and pink and her hair yanked up from her face. He doesn't say anything but moves away from the bed so she can lie down. What even is there to say? As he closes the door behind him, he's almost certain he can hear a faint "thank you, James."

She's never used his first name.

He tugs the door shut, making sure he hears the soft click, before he slumps down against the wall outside his bedroom and pulls his knees up. Lily Evans is sleeping in his bed. But then the reason why hits him again and he has to bite his fist so he doesn't punch the wall.

Anger is blooming inside his chest and he feels his hands shaking at the thought of what had happened at that party, no doubt in his mind that it came courtesy of Mulciber or Avery or Rosier. She hadn't been able to say over the phone, she'd barely been coherent at all. But who else could it be?

He doesn't know Lily Evans well. In fact, it could be said that he hardly knows her at all outside of a few direct interactions. He knows she's intelligent, at least when it comes to organic chemistry. He knows she is almost alarmingly kind, if watching her deal with first years is any indicator. He knows she's friendly with nearly everyone, even Snape of all people, the right git. He knows she is a football fan and is at nearly every match. He knows she only has his phone number because of a project they had worked on for Minnie last term. He knows that she doesn't care much for him, too big an ego, too pompous, too everything she tends to be against. And he knows that he can't look at her without tripping over himself and vomiting up words.

But at the moment, all he knows is that she didn't deserve whatever had been said or done. He can't remember falling asleep outside his bedroom, but he wakes the next morning with a kink in his neck, his lower body numb and his legs tingling and asleep. He lets out a loud groan as he pulls himself to his feet, his body creaking in protest. When he pushes open his bedroom door, Lily's gone. She must have found some way home. Maybe had her sister pick her up?

He scratches at his chest as he barrels downstairs, nearly stumbling down the last two steps before he makes his way into the kitchen, brows shooting up at the sight. Lily Evans is still in his house. Rather, Lily Evans is in his kitchen, still in his clothing, side by side with his mother as she helps her make breakfast, _dosas_ from the looks of it.

It's...odd, to say the absolute least. His mother's worn brown hand, almost the same size as Lily's, guiding her's as she help make the batter.

"Mum," he begins, no words seeming to find their way out of his mouth. What does a person even say to something like this? Luckily for him, his mother has never been one to let silence linger. She walks over to him, her slippered feet making soft, scuffing sounds against the tile.

"She explained everything to me, you aren't in trouble. I've raised a good man," she murmurs, smiling, patting his cheek. James gently presses his hand over hers before she draws it back, though still quite rattled. The only thing that could make the situation even remotely stranger would be if Sirius was home, but Sirius was with Remus and so at least he's been spared the struggle of trying to explain to him why Lily Evans is helping their mum cook breakfast at eight in the morning. He's having enough trouble working it out for himself.

Breakfast continues on as a strange affair and James is only half sure he isn't in the middle of an incredibly realistic dream. Lily Evans of all people is sitting across from him at the dining room table, fully engaged in conversation with his mother, and his father to a small extent, though he's barely functional until after his third cup of tea.

James' leg is bouncing under the table, fingers drumming against the tablecloth. He hadn't even put on a shirt that morning and the thought makes his brain start stuttering because it feels far too casual.

After they've finished eating, Lily is on her feet, helping his mum carry dishes back into the kitchen, offering to help her wash them. His mum tuts at that, and shakes her head.

" _Chellam_ , drive her home before she tries to help me clean the entire house," his mum calls over her shoulder as she sets a stack of dishes down into the sink. Lily is attempting to bite back a smile as his mum pats her cheek. James nods, and then nods again.

"Er, yeah, just give me a minute," he manages, turning on his heel and bounding up the stairs to throw on a shirt and his shoes. He scoops up his keys from the bedside table before hurrying downstairs again. He tilts his head to the side, gesturing towards the door so Lily will follow him out.

The easiness of the breakfast conversation has gone up in smoke and silence settles over the pair of them as he pulls out of the driveway. He gets to the end of the block before he has to finally say something. "I uh, I don't know where you live."

She looks up at him, having been fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket, the material too long for her hands, brushing across her knuckles. "Oh, right. Take a left, I think," she says after a moment, blinking up at him. James nods and makes a left turn, as instructed. After a few more minutes of silence, Lily speaks up again.

"Does Sirius live with you?" She asks, quietly, glancing over at him as his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. "It's just, your mum said something about her sons and how she had raised good boys after I explained why I was there and I had always thought you were an only child…" She shrugs, sinking down in the seat, just a bit.

He exhales. "Yeah, he's my brother in everything but blood,," James pauses, struggling to find the right words to say, "we don't talk about it at school. So we'd appreciate if you could not mention it to anyone." He doesn't offer to explain anything else. But Lily simply nods her head. After the incident stemming from the Riddle Academy expulsions, a few understandings go easier unsaid at St. Albus's.

The rest of the ride is met by silence, only being broken for the occasional direction. It's the longest time he's spent with Evans without making a massive fool of himself and he counts that as a real success. When he pulls up in front of her little house, she unbuckles her seat belt and her eyes flick over to him once more.

"Thank you, Potter," she says, softly, not meeting his eyes. She goes to take off his hoodie and he waves his hand, brushing off the gesture.  
"Keep it. And no problem, Evans. See you on Monday," he adds, awkwardly. What was someone supposed to say in a situation like this? She flashes him a smile, a real smile, and his chest tightens just a bit, but then she's shutting the door and hurrying up the sidewalk into her house, a flash of red disappearing inside.

He still doesn't know what happened at the party.


End file.
